Playing With Her Heart (Caught Up In Love #4)(38)
Author: Lauren Blakely

* * *

Reeve grunts as he bench presses a heavy set of barbells. He’s working out even more as he preps for his leading role in Escorted Lives.

We’re at his gym in the East Village early the next morning after a run. I do bicep curls with ten-pound weights, to the sounds of dumbbells hitting the floor and machines slamming down.

“How did you know it was real?”

“What do you mean?” He gives me a curious look.

“With Sutton,” I say, as if he should be able to follow the random thoughts that have percolated in my head since my last private rehearsal with Davis.

“Ah,” he says with a twinkle in his eye. “With the complicated, vexing, inscrutable Ms. Brenner.”

“Yeah. How did you know that you were feeling something for real?” I switch to triceps. No flabby chicken arms for me. “Or that she was?”

He pushes the barbell up for one more rep then places it in the rack. He sits up on the bench, elbows on his knees.

“It wasn’t easy, let me tell you. She was a tough one. Hard to read. Lots of layers of self-protection there. Took a while before I could really figure out if it was real.”

“And even then she tried to deny it,” I say, remembering when Reeve came to my apartment a few days before my Crash the Moon audition, completely flummoxed over what to do next with her. Before he laid it all on the line for her.

“That’s my woman. She could put up walls like no one I’ve ever seen.”

“Hmm,” I say, as I push my arm back for another curl. If Reeve only knew about my walls. My secrets.

“Is this about Patrick?” he asks, tilting his head to the side and pushing a hand through his brown hair.

“Yeah, of course,” I say quickly. Too quickly. Because my mind isn’t on Patrick at all. But it should be.

“He’s doing that whole let’s-be-friends-first thing?”

“Yep.”

Nearby, a burly man with a worn blue t-shirt that shows off arms as big as tires brings a set of weights to the ground. They clang loudly. “Are you going to go out with him again on another of these,” he stops to sketch air quotes, “Friends dates?”

“I hope so,” I say. Then once more, as if the repetition will make it true. “I hope so.”

Because I do hope for Patrick. I hope that I can connect with him the way I’ve always wanted to. That it can deepen now that he’s a real thing in my life. It has to. Really, it has to.

“What do friends do next?”

“I don’t know. I can’t ask him to dinner. That would feel like a date. And we’ve already done coffee.”

He wiggles his eyebrows as he stands up from the bench. “I know what you can do!”

“What?” I ask eagerly, my eyes lighting up.

“Bowling. There’s that bowling alley in the Port Authority. It’s awesome. It’s two blocks from the St. James so you can go there some evening after rehearsal.”

I nod and smile, liking the idea. Bowling with Patrick. It sounds fun. Easy, low-key, we’ll have a few laughs, we’ll do something friendly. It’ll be the perfect second non-date. And it’ll help me get my mind off all the things that aren’t real. All the things that can’t possibly be real in any way, shape or form. All the things that I don’t know how to fit into my life.

“I’m brilliant,” Reeve says, moving to a sit-up bench. “Just admit it.”

“You’re the most brilliant one of all,” I say as Reeve curls up in a crunch. My phone buzzes. I reach into the pocket of my workout shorts, and for the briefest of seconds, I find myself hoping it’s a text about another private rehearsal. But it’s from Kat, and it’s a picture of a wedding gown she wants to try on this weekend.

I smile and write back. Can’t wait.

She’s going to look beautiful when she walks down the aisle to marry the only man she’s ever loved.

* * *

Patrick holds the green bowling ball in front of his chest, pausing on the polished wood floor. He bends, his arm swinging gracefully behind him, then in front of him as he shoots the ball down the lane.

Lifehouse plays loudly in the Port Authority bowling alley, a strange choice. I’d expected a bouncy Katy Perry tune, or even some hair metal from the 80s like Poison. But the guy who runs this place loves his alt pop music, so we’re treated to one of my favorite songs—“Broken.” I’m falling apart, I’m barely breathing mingles with the sound of arcade games and gutter balls, but I push away the sadness in the words, and focus instead on the beat, on the way the band sings of possibilities, of healing, of becoming whole again.

And on Patrick, as he watches the ball roll in a perfect straight line. Ten pins spill with a loud crash, rattling under the lane.

Patrick raises his arms high in the air, spins around and smiles widely.

“Strike!”

I shake my head, but I can’t mask how impressed I am. There’s nothing he can’t do well. Not only has he landed strikes and spares effortlessly in most frames, he’s a perfect gentleman. No grandstanding in the bowling alley for him. Just a few happy pumps of the fist with each frame.

“You are a rock star,” I say as I high five him. He’s a golden boy. He’s good at everything. And he’s literally the nicest guy I’ve ever met. He’s like sunshine, and I don’t think anything could ever get him down.

He waves off my compliment, as if it’s nothing. “Nah. I’m just having fun.”

I take my final turn, knocking down five pins.

I return to the scorekeeping table, and I know I’ve been defeated, but I don’t care because it’s been fun. How could it not be fun? Patrick’s not hot and cold. Patrick doesn’t make my brain hurt. Patrick doesn’t confuse me with all his mixed messages. It’s simple with him, and maybe that’s how this will be as we move forward after Crash The Moon—a steady, sturdy sort of thing.

No drama. No angst. No worrying.

We train our eyes on the TV screens, waiting for our final scores.

188 flashes across the black and white monitor under his name. Mine is much lower.

“You finished with a 102,” he says brightly, placing a hand on my back. “That’s a great score.”

“It was a good game.”

“We should get back now or Shannon and Milo will have our heads,” he says, and I flinch at the mention of our director’s name. They’re working with other chorus members, so we had two hours free at lunch and used that time to slip out to the nearby lanes. We leave the Port Authority and head the few blocks back to the theater.